A Girl They Called Roxane
by VanillaMostly
Summary: My take on Roxane's childhood :D
1. Hate

A Girl they called Roxane

* * *

Here it is, the life of a girl they called Roxane, who will grow up to be a phenomenal singer, Dustfinger's wife, and mother of three children. She'll have her pains and her grief and she'll also have laughs of joy. But this is her story before she knew any of that...

* * *

Hate

.

.

Roxane didn't understand what the words meant, but she wasn't stupid. She knew it meant nothing good, especially if it came from that woman's mouth. Her horrid, ugly, thick-lipped mouth.

"You little bitch," the woman hissed. "How dare you give me that look! You think you're better than me? When you're nothing but that whore's runt?" She grabbed Roxane by the arm, her long nails digging into Roxane's skin. Roxane bit her lip. She wouldn't give that woman the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. "Go clean the chamber pots! We'll see if your attitude improves after that!"

Roxane was too young to know about hate. But looking up into that woman's face - at her slits for eyes, her flared nostrils, her ears with the gold jewels dangling from it, her hair swept up carefully and held by sparkling pins, her red-painted lips pulled back into a sneer - Roxane was strongly tempted to spit at her, to kick her in the stomach, to smear dirt all over the woman's silk gown.

But she did none of that. Because young as she was, she still understood enough, just who was the one in power here and who was not.

So she bent her neck, nodded silently like she has seen her mother do, and went to clean the chamber pots.


	2. The Tutor

The Tutor

.

.

He was an old man with wrinkled skin and thin, gray hair, but he had very young-looking eyes that seemed to twinkle at her.

"Come here, my child," the old man said, smiling. Hesitantly Roxane approached; part of her still expected the old man to all of a sudden rip off what will turn out to be a mask. A mask of kindness. "How long have you been hiding there, crouched on the ground like that?"

She shrugged, scratching her nose. Her eyes drifted to the books on the table. So that's what they looked like up close.

The old man chuckled. "You're a curious little thing. Yes, that's how children should be. Not like those lazy and spoiled brats," he muttered, "only interested in sleeping and food." He squinted at her, stroking his gray beard. "Poor child. You look like you haven't had enough of either."

She frowned at him. "I'm fine," she said stoutly.

Again he smiled. He patted the seat next to his.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" he said. "Open a book. Let's get started... Before the mistress of the house finds us." He leaned in and whispered, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. "I don't like her much. When she wrinkles her nose she looks a bit like a pig, doesn't she?"

Roxane laughed. And with that, she knew she has found a friend at last.


	3. Overheard

Overheard

.

.

The kitchen was empty, or so she thought. Roxane had just grabbed a meat bun off the plate when she heard the voices. Her eye caught the pantry and she dove inside, squeezing into the space and tucking in her feet.

"... found a new woman," the cook was whispering.

Her companion was the gardener's wife. In her arms she held a baby sucking on her milk. "Another one?" she said, voice just as hushed. "Oh, goodness. No wonder the mistress has been in a bad temper. Even worse than usual."

"Can you blame her?" The cook shook her head. "The master should watch himself. One of these days, if he gets another one of his girls pregnant..."

The gardener's wife clicked her tongue. "Won't he just toss her aside, like he did to that maid Amelia?"

"Shh," said the cook, looking around. Roxane leaned back as far as she could.

"If I were her," said the gardener's wife in a lowered voice, caressing the head of her baby, "I wouldn't stay here. I'd take my daughter and go."

"Go where? The streets?" asked the cook. She turned on the water and began washing some dishes. Roxane strained to hear the next part. "... pretty face will just land her as a slave to another lord."

"She has no family?"

"I've asked her once. She said her father's long passed away. He was just a poor farmer. That's why she came here, looking for work."

There was a silence except for the clinking of plates. "My heart just breaks when I see Roxane," said the gardener's wife, sighing deeply. "It's not fair for her to have to grow up like this. I don't know why the master never says anything, seeing his wife treat his own daughter like that."

"You know why," said the cook. "There's only one thing he loves, and that's money."

The two women fell quiet again. This time, though, they looked uneasy and guilty, as if they knew very well they said too much.

"It's getting dark," the gardener's wife said, drawing her baby close to her. "I should probably go."

"Yes, yes," said the cook hastily, "I'll see you out."

Their footsteps gradually faded. Roxane let out a long breath. She crept out of the pantry and ran as soon as her feet touched the floor. But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn't outrun the turmoil of her thoughts.


	4. Father

Father

.

.

"What are you staring at, fool?"

Roxane snapped out of her daze. Her least favorite person in the world was glaring down at her, as usual.

"I said, bring this to the master's bedroom!"

Roxane lowered her eyes so that the woman couldn't see her expression and obediently took the plate. It was so heavy that she almost dropped it, but experience has taught her how to bend her knees to support the weight just in time. She hurried across the fine carpet, up the winding staircase she'd scrubbed this morning, and to the door at the end of the hall, her heart thumping all the while.

_Beyond this door... beyond this door is... my father?_

She knocked twice, as they have many times instructed her to do, and waited for what felt like forever. Finally, a voice inside the room spoke.

"Come in."

With a trembling hand Roxane pushed open the doors and walked inside. As always she was momentarily struck by how bright and lavish everything was.

"Oh, she's adorable!"

Roxane was told to always keep her gaze on the ground unless instructed otherwise, but this rule slipped her mind when she heard the feminine voice.

He was lying on his plush, velvet bed with an arm around a woman. Roxane didn't care about her. Her eyes were on him. But he didn't seem to notice her staring. He was too busy putting his lips on the woman beside him.

"Stop it," the woman giggled. "There's a child watching."

"Leave the food on the table," he told Roxane without turning her way.

Roxane didn't have to wait for a second command. She dropped the plate on the table, not caring that several grapes rolled on to the ground as a result, and walked to the door. She didn't look back. She felt too sick to her stomach to look back.

She didn't stop walking until she reached the servants' quarters.

"What's wrong?" her mother said. But she gently patted Roxane's hair as Roxane sobbed into her dress. "Are you sad? Mama will sing you a song. It's a nice song. It's a song about a fairy and a fire-elf who fell in love..."

_He's not my father_, thought Roxane. _I know he isn't._ Her real father was a man who worked in the stables, caring for the horses, as the horrible woman had said once, though she didn't say it like that. The cook and the gardener's wife were wrong.

Roxane fell asleep listening to her mother's made-up song. The singer's heart wasn't in it, but it felt good to be sung to all the same.


	5. The Minstrels

The Minstrels

.

.

City of Ombra... Roxane wished she had more than one pair of eyes. There was just too much to look at, too much to breathe in, to much to smell. On this corner there was a man telling fortunes; he had a black patch that covered one eye! On that corner there was a stand that sold feathers the colors of rainbows! And over there...

"Roxane! Hurry up, now!" The cook waved at her impatiently. Roxane tore her eyes away from the delicious-looking pastries in the bakery window and joined her.

"Don't wander off," warned the cook. "What will the mistress say if I lose you?"

_She'll be very happy_, thought Roxane. "I won't," she promised. She didn't want to get on the cook's bad side, or else the cook might not agree to bring her out again next time. It took a lot of begging already this time, and the cook only agreed because the mistress was away on a trip to visit some relative.

The cook stopped to argue with a guy selling fish about the price. Roxane tuned her out. She saw that a small crowd was gathered across the street. Some of the people were clapping. Many were smiling. At what?

She glanced back at the cook, who was really getting into the argument, waving her hands around wildly while the fish seller looked on. Roxane took a step away. The cook didn't notice.

_I'll just take a quick look_, Roxane told herself.

She ran over to the crowd. Lucky she was small because she squeezed to the front with no problem. And what she saw made her gasp in delight.

Four women were dancing, shaking their wrists in the air, the bangles they wore making a clanking like bells as they moved. When they twirled, their colorful skirts reminded Roxane of the flowers in the forest. She had never seen a sight more beautiful.

Behind them a man was playing some sort of wooden instrument in his lap and singing. His song wasn't like the hollow, lonely ones Roxane's mother sang. It was loud and full of joy, and the man's voice was full of energy and strength. The beat was so fun Roxane's feet itched with the desire to dance and twirl too.

When the song was finished, everyone around Roxane applauded. Roxane clapped so hard her hands hurt. The dancers bowed, and some people threw out coins that landed in a bowl set by the singer's feet.

"Roxane! Roxane, where are you?"

The anxious, shrill cries of the cook brought Roxane back to reality. She squeezed her way back out of the crowd. "I'm here, I'm here!" she said, running to the cook.

"Heavens, girl, don't scare me like that!" scolded the cook.

"But there were these people dancing and singing over there - oh, you should have seen them, they were-"

"You mean those strolling players?" asked the cook distractedly as she examined her purchase. "Oh yes, I've heard of them... Don't get yourself involved with those folk. They're a bunch of penniless vagrants." She took Roxane's hand. "Come on now, there's still loads more to buy. And I'll be watching you to make sure you don't slip off this time!"

Roxane couldn't help but look back once more, though, as the cook pulled her in the opposite direction. So they were called strolling players...


	6. Screams in the Night

Screams in the Night

.

.

"Mama...? Mama?"

Roxane's mother didn't respond. She coughed again. Roxane turned her over and saw red stains on the pillow. Blood.

"Mama!"

Her mother's eyes were shut and sweat covered her brow. She was breathing, but she was breathing too fast, almost like she couldn't get enough air into her body. And then... there was a strange woman standing there. Pale as snow, and something about her made Roxane feel just as cold, even though it was mid-summer.

"Oh no," someone whispered behind Roxane. It was the other maid. She put a hand to her mouth as she sat up in bed. "A White Woman..."

Roxane didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like the way the maid was looking at her. She didn't like it at all. Her body seemed to act on its own. Before she realized what she was doing, she had run out into the night air, across the damp grass towards the main house.

"Help! Somebody help!"

She kept screaming this until the lights came on, and footsteps sounded. The master's children looked at her in confusion and sleepiness. Eventually, the woman Roxane never wanted to see came down the stairs. But perhaps she was the only one who could help her right now.

"My mama, she's sick! It's bad! Very bad! Call someone - do it! I beg you!"

The woman looked at her in silence. Then, she spoke. "Take me to her."

Roxane stared at her. She wasn't expecting this answer. "C-can't you get a doctor?"

"_Take me to her_."

Roxane knew there was no point in challenging her, especially not when time was ticking by, more and more precious seconds lost. So she ran out into the night again, and a glance over her shoulder told her the woman followed. Apparently she had told her children to go back to bed. Roxane didn't want to think about who else hadn't even bothered to get out of his bed.

The servants all looked up with frightened faces as Roxane entered. They quickly stepped back from Roxane's mother's bed. The strange snow-white figure was still standing in the corner of the room...

The mistress sat down on the bed and shook back her sleeve. Roxane stepped forward involuntarily. "What- are you doing?" she asked, perhaps a bit too sharply.

The woman looked at her so coldly it sent chills down Roxane's spine. "Someone take the girl away." When no one moved, she barked, "Now!"

"No, no!" cried Roxane, struggling against the maid trying to take her away. "Mama! No! I hate you!" She screamed the last part over and over again as they pulled her out of the room, but the woman's back didn't even flinch. Roxane screamed that, and every bad thing she has heard the woman call her. Not that any of this changed a thing. It didn't even make her feel any better.


	7. Morning

Morning

.

.

She didn't know how long she stayed there in the cellar where they put her. Several servants took their turns staying with her. Some tried to put a comforting arm around her, but she pushed them away. Some tried to tell her things, like _Your mother will be alright_, or _The mistress is tending to her, she knows what she is doing_ and other meaningless lies. Roxane covered up her ears until soon they all knew to back off and leave her alone to cry.

It was morning by the time they let her out. She could see the sun rising over the treetops.

She ran breathlessly back to the servants' quarters. Someone was standing by her mother's bed. For a moment Roxane thought it was the person they called White Woman again. But then the person turned to Roxane, and she had a warm face. A warm smile.

"She's sleeping," the maid said.

Roxane's knees felt ready to collapse. She put her face to her mother's chest, listened to that gentle beating of the heart, and cried. Her eyes already felt raw from having cried all night, but that was okay, everything was okay. She cried so hard, she didn't even hear the door that creaked open and the rustling of someone's silk gown as they slipped out.


	8. Thank You

Thank You

.

.

"Shut up, Mother, you don't know anything!" The door slammed.

Roxane dared not breathe as the speaker stormed by angrily. Roxane kept her head bent down, though she couldn't stop herself from sneaking a curious look. As usual, the master's daughter acted like Roxane was thin air and brushed past her without a glance.

Roxane watched her go. She gazed back at the door. It was open ajar.

Tentatively she made her way to the doorway and peeked inside. The only time she had been in there was some years ago to clean while the woman was out. The maid who was supposed to do the job had been too busy and had asked Roxane to help her.

The room had not changed much since the last time she had seen it. It was still as dark as ever. The woman liked to keep the drapes drawn, especially when it was bright and sunny out. She was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, her back facing Roxane. Roxane put a finger on the handle. She pushed. The woman didn't move in her chair.

She walked inside, dragging the broomstick behind her. She pretended to sweep the floor as she took another step closer to the woman. The woman still hadn't moved. Was she asleep? There was a book, opened, on the bed. Roxane craned her neck, trying to read the words upside down. _Your husband might be more pleased if you_... she managed to decipher.

"Why are you here?"

The woman's voice was quiet. So quiet.

Roxane turned around, glancing up at her. But the only light that managed to slip through the drapes illuminated the woman's bony fingers; her face, hidden by shadows, gave away nothing.

"I-I..." stammered Roxane. "I was just..."

"Get out."

"But it's about-"

"I - do - not - care," said the woman. She pointed a finger at the door. "I don't want to see your face in here - ever again. You understand?"

Roxane clutched the broomstick. She didn't move.

"WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING THERE? I SAID - GET OUT!"

The woman threw something at Roxane. It missed Roxane's head but hit the wall behind her, shattering into pieces. Roxane didn't wait for the woman to throw a second one. She got out.

She went to a window, standing on tiptoes to push it open. Roxane reached under her tunic, pulled out the card that she had carefully drawn small flowers on and had the kind old tutor write the words on ("Write it really, really neat, please!") and ripped it up. Then she threw the pieces into the wind, where they either drifted along the breeze or were taken by little blue fairies to their nests.


	9. A Resolve

A Resolve

.

.

The first bit of snow had started falling. Peaceful light snowflakes gradually covered the rooftops and tree branches in a soft, creamy white blanket.

And Roxane's mother was gone.

The doctor was there this time. As the last one of the White Women faded into the air, he returned his equipment back to his wooden box, looked at Roxane, and shook his head.

"It's her lungs... They've been infected for quite some time. It's amazing, actually, that she lasted this long. Your mother must have had a strong fighting spirit."

The days that passed after that felt blurry and dreamlike. Was Roxane there when they took the body away? She could see in her mind the cart with the cloth draped over her mother so prettily, the cook dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief... But it felt like she was seeing all this from somewhere far, far away.

One afternoon she was sitting near the fish pond in the garden, staring at a tiny water nymph still visible beneath the thin layer of ice, when from the corner of her eyes she saw the purple dress, the large hat with the veil and fake plums stuck on top.

"Are you done moping?" That familiar voice. Cold, brisk, with its dripping contempt.

Roxane didn't move, so the voice continued.

"Death doesn't play favorites. It takes who it wants and when it wants. Your mother is not special. It was her time to go. No amount of your _love_ or foolish prayers for miracles can change that."

Roxane didn't answer.

"But I don't expect a stupid child to understand. Yes, why not. Keep moping for your beautiful, wonderful mother. Do you think if you mope enough she'll come back from the grave to visit you? Hold your hand again when you cry? Kiss your- "

Roxane sprung to her feet, and threw. Threw the glob of dirt, muddy from the recently melted snow, at the woman and her fancy purple dress.

"It's all your fault!" screamed Roxane. "You killed her! You made her sick, I know it! You've always hated her - like you hate me!"

She threw and threw until her arms were tired and her voice grew hoarse. The woman hadn't even shifted an inch. She stood there like a statue. The veil from the ugly hat hid the woman's face from view, but even so Roxane could picture that revolting sneer she had seen a thousand times before.

Slowly, the woman wiped off mud on the front of her dress. "Good to see you're back to your old self," she said calmly. She turned on her heel. "The floors have been gathering dust. You remember how it works. If you're not done by dinnertime, you won't be getting dinner. I suggest you get going."

The woman walked back to the house, leaving Roxane standing alone in the garden. Roxane gritted her teeth. _We'll see_, she thought in her head. _We'll see how that sneer will look when Death is here to take _you. _And I swear, I swear with everything I have - that I will be there when it does!_


	10. Marcella

Marcella

.

.

"Roxane... Roxane."

The master's daughter was calling her. Roxane looked around, just to make sure she wasn't talking to someone else. But of course that was foolish because Marcella already spoke her name.

"Miss?" asked Roxane as politely as she could without showing her annoyance. There was still a lot of work to do, and Marcella was probably going to just give her another tedious task.

Marcella pulled Roxane behind the wall. She looked oddly flushed, like she had a fever. "I need you to go to the front gates for me," she said. She spoke very fast and her eyes were flitting everywhere.

"What?" Roxane checked herself just in time to lower her head respectfully. "But the wo - I mean, the mistress won't allow..."

Marcella pushed her so hard Roxane nearly lost her balance. "Did I say anything about my mother?" she snapped. But her anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Little Roxane, cute Roxane," she said sweetly. "All you have to do is go to the front gates, alright?" Here, Marcella leaned close and whispered in Roxane's ear. When she finished, she leaned back and smiled, exposing her large horse-ish teeth. "Good girl. Come to my room as soon as you're back."

"Yes, miss," muttered Roxane.

"And do NOT tell anyone about this - not _anyone_ - do you understand?"

Marcella had never sounded so much like her mother, but Roxane kept this thought to herself. "Yes," she said.

"Alright then. Go!"

What choice did Roxane have? She put down the basket full of clothes she had been ready to wash, took off her cleaning apron, and made her way to the back door, avoiding the cook who was thankfully whistling a tune, too absorbed in chopping vegetables to notice.

As she ran she couldn't help but wonder if this was the smart thing to do. If she got caught, she would be the one in trouble, not Marcella... And what if this was a trap? It wouldn't be the first time one of the woman's nasty children played a trick on her. One year Marcella's brother had broken the woman's favorite porcelain vase and blamed Roxane for it. Roxane had gotten a good beating with the wooden stick for it. She had a red welt on her back for two days.

But it was too late to turn back now... Roxane slowed down as she neared the gates. She looked around for the person wearing the brown cap.

"Marcella?" a voice whispered.

Roxane turned and saw a dark silhouette hunched at the side of the gates. She walked over and brusquely held out her palm.

"I'm her maid. Marcella said you have something to give me?"

The person tipped up his brown cap. His eyes widened as he looked at her, and for some reason he turned as pink as Marcella had done a few minutes before. "Yes, uh, h-hold on. I have it..."

Roxane resisted the urge to roll her eyes. So this was the guy Marcella mentioned? So much for "dazzlingly handsome, with the most beautiful eyes." He couldn't even talk right.

The person put the folded piece of parchment in Roxane's open hand. As he did so his fingers lingered on hers in a way Roxane didn't like.

"Wh-what's your name? I'm Alfred," he said, clearing his throat. "But you can call me Alfie... if you'd like."

Roxane yanked back her hand. "Goodbye," she said pointedly.

He seemed to mistake that for sincerity. "Oh, yes, goodbye," he said with a giddy grin. He took off his brown cap and gave her a gallant bow. "I bid you a good day, my fair maiden."

Roxane didn't wait to see him leave. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and that weirdo, as fast as possible.

When she got back, Marcella snatched the parchment from Roxane so greedily she nearly tore it. "Ohh, he's so romantic," she breathed. She caught Roxane's eye and smiled smugly. "This is grown-up stuff, you wouldn't know. Someday though, if you're lucky you might."

Marcella was still laughing into her pillow and rolling around on her bed as Roxane left. Is this what grown-ups do? If so, Roxane wasn't very interested in growing up.


	11. Places to Go

Places to Go

.

.

"Are there really places like this book describes, mister?"

The old tutor bent down to see what Roxane was pointing to. He adjusted his spectacles, holding the book at arm's length. "Ah... rolling waves, yellow sand, water stretching farther than your eye can go, and colored as blue as the sky..." The tutor turned to Roxane, smiling his twinkly-eyed smile. "Yes, there is a place exactly like that. It's called the sea."

Roxane tried to picture it in her head. "And in this - sea - are there really fish as big as this room?"

"Yes, there are, and many are even bigger."

Roxane jumped up and down in her chair, unable to contain her excitement. "And birds with wings as long as this table?"

"There are," said the tutor, looking amused.

"Wow," said Roxane dreamily.

The tutor just looked at her, stroking his beard that had grown longer during these years but was still as gray and bushy.

"Would you like to go there?" he asked her.

"Go there! Of course I-" Roxane's voice trailed off. "I... can't," she said quietly.

"Oh? But why not?"

"Well, because," explained Roxane patiently, "how do I get there if I'm _here_?"

The tutor leaned in and said just as patiently, "You get _out_ of here, that's how."

Roxane stared at his wrinkly round face. What a preposterous thought - her getting out of here? But this place is - _this place is my only home._

The tutor seemed to read her unsaid thought. "Listen, my child," he said, clapping his old wrinkled hand over hers. "I know it's scary to think that there's a world outside of this place. Of course it's scary for you - you've only known this house, this land within the gates, your whole life! But believe me... there _is_ a whole world out there, just waiting for you to explore it. Do you really think the sea is the only thing you haven't seen yet? Oh, child, there's so much more... Much more than these scrolls and books can contain. There are the great mountains up north, the lush green woods out west, a whole other kingdom down south... So many places to go!"

Roxane felt her heart lifting inside her, and listening to the tutor's words she suddenly felt so light she could almost fly. Fly out of here, over the walls, and to those places the tutor spoke of.

But the spell was broken by a voice yelling her name downstairs.

"One minute!" she yelled back. She put the book back in the tutor's hand. "Thank you, mister," she whispered, "but I must go."

Before she turned around, however, the tutor held out a hand to stop her. "How old are you, Roxane?"

She counted in her head. Three winters have passed since her mother died, three winters since anyone has last celebrated her birthday, so... "Twelve," she said.

"Twelve..." The tutor smiled. "I'm five times your age. I'm an old, old man, Roxane, and you're just a young little sapling. And what do you know about saplings? Their roots will regrow no matter how far you take them to their new home. Will you think about that, my sweet child?"

Roxane paused at the doorway. She smiled back at the kind old man. How much she wished, as she had a million times, that he was her grandfather. "Yes, mister. I will."


	12. Bad News

Bad News

.

.

Everywhere Roxane went, she could feel that something was different. Was it Roxane's imagination that the air in the house suddenly felt heavier than usual? She certainly wasn't imagining the hushed, nervous voices around her.

"... fighting again... wonder how many pieces of china they broke now..."

"...sold the master's horse, his favorite one, the chestnut..."

"...has to do what she can..."

"...even dismissed the tutor, did you know that?"

Roxane was wiping the windows when she heard that last fragment, and she almost fell off the stool she was standing on. "What did you say?"

The maid looked up at her, surprised at Roxane's evident alarm. "The tutor," she repeated blankly. "The mistress told him she won't be needing him anymore."

"What? _Why?_"

"Keep your voice down," the maid said. She shook her head grimly. "Haven't you heard? The master lost quite a bit of his fortune in gambling," she whispered. "Things are looking bad. Who knows who else the mistress will..."

"Enough chattering, don't you think?"

The cold voice sliced into the air like a knife, and instantly all the whispering stopped. Everyone scurried into line as the woman came into sight, her hands clasped behind her as she scrutinized every guilty face.

Roxane stepped down from the stool carefully, waiting for the woman to turn her steel-like eyes towards her. But the woman looked right past Roxane as if Roxane was no more than a moth on the drapes.

"You," she spoke to the maid who had been talking to Roxane. "Wash Marcella's hair and dress her in her nicest gown. And you," she said to the cook, "prepare dinner for a guest. I want our very best silverware set out."

"Yes, ma'am," the maid and the cook murmurred. They hurried off to do their tasks, exchanging a look of confusion.

"Anything you want me to do, ma'am?" asked Roxane.

The woman looked at the chandelier on the ceiling as she spoke. "Go down to the cellar and scrub the floors," she said.

Roxane frowned. The cellar? Since when did you need to scrub the floors of the cellar, unless you were taking your guest down there?

She was still staring at the woman in bewilderment when the shriek pierced the air. Roxane flinched. Was there a fire? Did someone die? What -

"You can't, Mother, you can't! I won't do it!"

It was Marcella. She came down the stairs running, and Roxane almost didn't recognize her. Her hair wasn't brushed smoothly but wild and standing up on ends, as if their owner had been pulling it in different directions. She was wearing only her night gown and she was barefeet.

"Marcella, behave yourself," said the woman.

Marcella didn't seem to have heard her. The maid sent to clean her up tugged at Marcella's arm, but Marcella shook her off like she would a fly. "You can't do this to me," she snarled at her mother. "I won't - I won't marry him! You'll have to kill me first!"

"Stop being so dramatic," the woman said dispassionately. "You're fifteen. Your cousin had a baby on the way when she even younger than you. And I was married at fifteen."

"Yes, and look how happy you are now, Mother!"

The woman paused, but only for the briefest moment. "Take her, Eva," she said to the maid. But Marcella struggled, pushing her off. She was quite strong when she wanted to be.

"I'LL GO TO FATHER! I'LL TELL HIM WHAT YOU'RE PLANNING! HE WON'T AGREE TO IT, HE WON'T!"

"Won't he?" said the woman with a sharp laugh. "The oil merchant is a good friend of his. But you can try. Perhaps your father loves you enough to go against the man who lent him five thousand shillings, only to have your father lose it in one betting. Perhaps your father is awake enough to listen to your pleas even though he was passed out the last time I saw him, drunk as a dead rat."

Marcella burst into tears. She ran back to the stairs, not even caring that she tripped halfway and almost fell.

The woman was breathing heavily. She snapped her head to Roxane and the maid.

"What are you two standing there for? Get to work!"

Roxane hurried off with no further ado. A dull ache appeared in her stomach. She wondered if it was something she ate or if it had more to do with a sense of foreboding she was beginning to feel.


	13. Changes

Changes

.

.

"Cook?" Roxane whispered.

"What is it, child? Can't you see I'm busy?" The cook bustled around the kitchen, grumbling. "No nuts, no lettuce, no fish... What else does the merchant not like? Everything?"

"Cook... I think I'm dying."

The cook dropped the pot lid into the sink with a bang. She turned to Roxane. "What do you mean?"

Roxane didn't know where to look. She tried not to cry. "There's... there's blood."

She showed the cook. The cook's round face, to Roxane's shock, smiled as she reached up to brush Roxane's hair.

"Darling, you're not dying. You're just... growing up."

"But I don't want to grow up!"

The cook laughed and hugged Roxane close. "My, my," she muttered. "We'll need to get you a new dress now. Look how short it's become! Such an obvious thing and I hadn't even noticed! Oh, silly me, I must be getting old... Eva, hey, Eva! Come here!"

The maid came over, yawning. "What's so urgent, Cook? I'm tired as it is after Marcella..." Her eyebrows rose when the cook told her in a quiet voice. She turned to Roxane and put an arm around her. "Well, look at that, Roxane! You've grown to a big girl now! Don't look so disgruntled, it's a good thing. Yes, wipe off that frown... Where's that pretty smile?"

"She's really something, isn't she?" said the cook admiringly.

"And she's just getting started... imagine her in a few years," grinned the maid. She guided along Roxane, tugging at Roxane's braid. "Come, it's time I brushed _your_ hair. It's gotten long, hasn't it? How fast time flies!"


	14. Envy

Envy

.

.

"He won't write to me now, he won't even talk to me! Why? W-when I told him I would run away with him!"

"Oh, miss," said the maid, wringing her hands worriedly as Marcella wailed harder into her pillow.

The maid saw Roxane enter and shook her head quickly, obviously trying to tell her to leave. It wasn't like Roxane wanted to be in this room full of a girl's noisy weeping, either, but she was less fond of the prospect of the woman's face if she went back empty-handed.

"The oil merchant is here again," Roxane said. "Mistress says to bring Marcella down."

Marcella raised her head and looked at Roxane. Roxane took an instinctive step back; Marcella's eyes pierced her with the kind of look that clearly wished Roxane a painful death by drowning.

"It's _you!_" she cried, staggering to her feet. "_You_'re the reason Alfie left me! How could you do this to me? I _trusted_ you!"

"Miss," pleaded the maid. Marcella ignored her.

"'Who's that maid of yours? What's her name? Did she mention me?' Oh, he wouldn't shut up about you... I should have known. Tell me," said Marcella; her laugh sounded deranged. "What'd you do to bewitch him? How many times did you sneak off behind my back to meet him?"

"I didn't!" yelled Roxane.

"Liar! You stole Alfie from me! Just like how your mother stole my father, you two-faced sl-"

"Be quiet."

Someone was standing behind Roxane now; she could hear the person breathing. She didn't have to look back to see who it was, though. She could guess enough from Marcella's expression.

"But Mother, she - "

"Shut your mouth, Marcella," the woman said, "you're embarrassing yourself." She glanced at Roxane. "Leave," she commanded. "Help the cook in the kitchen."

Roxane was more than glad to jump on the chance to escape, but Marcella wasn't finished. She pointed a finger at Roxane.

"Mother, I know you're only marrying me off to that man for the money," she said, her voice steady, but her trembling hand gave her away. "There's just something I don't get... if we need money so badly, why don't you sell _her_ as a slave?"

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Roxane's mouth went dry. She felt frozen to the spot.

"I'm sure men would pay cartfuls of _gold_ to have her," Marcella spat. "And she's not such a child anymore. Didn't you say that when my cousin was her age she already had a baby?"

Roxane tasted blood; that's when she realized she was biting her cheek.

"You need to rest, Marcella," the woman said. "Eva, please tell our guest to call another day. Marcella's not feeling well. You," she said, turning to Roxane. "Haven't I already told you where you needed to be?"

Roxane went. But as she did, she looked back. At the woman she'd always hated, and whom she'd thought she had all figured out. Until now.


	15. Other Factors

Other Factors

.

.

After that day Marcella rarely left her room; for a few days she even protested by starving herself. The woman's lips got thinner and thinner from being pursed tightly all the time. The servants walked around the house as if on eggshells... And Roxane was no exception. She dove into her work, avoiding the woman and Marcella at all cost. Luckily this was not difficult to do, as both did not seem to want to see her either.

She was in the middle of hanging up laundry to dry, lost in thought, when she became aware of someone watching her.

It wasn't Marcella or the woman, but it was far from someone Roxane would rather see.

"I'm back, Roxane."

His voice had gotten deeper. It probably would have sounded nice if he didn't say her name with such... _sliminess_.

"Young master," Roxane said, bowing so that he wouldn't see her disgust.

"You never used to call me that," the master's son said. He started to walk in a circle around Roxane. She kept her head bowed. "I guess you've gotten a bit more - _docile? _Ha, I bet you don't even know what that word means." The jeer in his voice brought back many memories... and not good ones. "Did you miss me, Roxane? It's been a few years, hasn't it?"

He stopped and leaned closer to her; she could smell his breath. It still stunk of garlic.

"I missed _you_ when I was away at the Prince's court... none of the lady-in-waitings are as pretty as you."

He reached a finger to touch Roxane's neck. On pure reflex she slapped his hand away.

"Ouch!" For a second his face was just like the kid Roxane remembered, who would kick her, pinch her arm or trip her, and then glare at her with the same look he had now when she would ignore him whenever he did that. "Is it true, then?" The hostility on his face flickered to a sneer, not unlike his mother's. "I heard what happened with my sister and you. So you're _that_ kind of girl."

Roxane's nerves have been high-strung all week, so it was no surprise that they suddenly snapped. She shoved him on the shoulders, hard. He'd grown taller since she had last seen him, and was still as plump as ever, but he obviously wasn't prepared for this reaction.

"You-!" He gaped at her from the ground. Another time Roxane would have laughed at his expression. But not today. "Just wait," he growled, scrambling to his feet. "J-just wait until I tell my mother!"

Ha. What was with rich children and their mothers? But Roxane wasn't in the mood to smile. She sat down and buried her face in her palms. She was tired... So very tired.


	16. Parting Words

Parting Words

.

.

The cook was crying. She squeezed Roxane so tight Roxane couldn't breathe. But she hugged the cook back just as tightly in return.

"Oh, my beautiful Roxane," she said in-between loud sniffs. "Oh, oh..."

The cook seemed to be incapable of other speech, but Roxane nodded as if she understood. And she did understand.

Next was Eva the maid. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were shinier than usual. "You take care of yourself, alright?" she whispered as she kissed Roxane on the cheek. "I know you're a smart girl. Be brave. Everything will be alright."

Roxane nodded again silently. The woman knocked the door. "The wagon is waiting," she reminded.

Roxane swallowed the lump in her throat and managed a smile at the cook and the maid. "See you." _But will I?_

She was still thinking this as she got on the wagon. The woman was speaking to the horse driver at the front. Roxane waited for the wagon to start moving, for it to start taking her away, from the house she had grown up in for the last thirteen years, to her new home, where a new master was waiting.

No, no, she musn't think of that. If she did she'd only torture herself. Think of the stories in the books the old tutor once gave you, Roxane... Think of the sea, the fish with shimmering blue scales, the mermaids, the soaring birds that could carry you through the clouds...

"Put on your hat."

The woman had returned. She stood there, her impassive face eerily pale under the moonlight. She waited expectantly, so Roxane put on the hat as she was told, even though there was not a cloud in the starlit sky and the hideous hat was stuffy and uncomfortable.

The woman still didn't leave, and the wagon hadn't moved. Roxane felt awkward, sitting there. Did the woman want her to say something? What was there to say? _I'm sorry you had to sell me like you sold the master's horse when I did nothing wrong?_

"Cheer up," said the woman. "This is the last time you'll see me. Aren't you relieved?"

The woman was looking at Roxane as if she could see right into her mind. Roxane kept her eyes focused at the front. Today she would not let the woman read her fear.

"What they say is true... you'll be a great beauty one day. Far more beautiful than your mother ever was."

The woman exhaled, folding her arms.

"But that's unfortunate. Beauty can be a woman's curse - one of the worst. Other people won't tell you this because they love you, so you'll only be hearing it from me. And I'll tell you something else too, as my parting advice. Whether or not you listen is up to you."

She leaned in, so that Roxane could smell her perfume. It was thick and too sweet in Roxane's nose.

"There are two kinds of women in this world. The first kind breaks and they fall apart; the second kind falls but they get up. Your mother was the first kind. Women like her are weak. They don't last long in a world that belongs to men."

_Which kind am I? _ Roxane waited, but the woman said no more. She stepped back, signaled to the driver, and Roxane heard the whip slash the air. By the time Roxane turned her head, all she could see was the house, growing smaller and smaller, and the sliver of the white moon that seemed to follow her like a faithful friend.


	17. Attack

Attack

.

.

Roxane dozed off, she didn't know for how long. A jerk of the wagon was what awoke her. She looked around. Where was she? Was it this dark before?

The wagon hit another bump on the road, and this time it stopped.

Someone spoke at the front. The driver? But no, it sounded like more than one voice.

"Hello?" asked Roxane. She stuck her head out.

Now she could make out what the voices were saying. "Yep, that's her." Another voice added, "Let's go."

A hand encircled Roxane's arm at that moment. She screamed when that hand started dragging her out of the wagon.

"Shh, it's okay, we're here to - "

Roxane bit hard on the hand. The person yelped.

"I did not sign up for this..." a voice muttered.

"Shut up and help, will you?"

They were carrying Roxane as easily as if she was a bag of flour. It was dark, too dark to see who the people were - what happened to the moonlight? Roxane strained to see where the wagon was, what the driver was doing, all the while kicking and struggling. But it was no good. They were taking her somewhere, and where, she didn't have a single clue.


	18. The Camp

The Camp

.

.

Her eyes gradually adjusted, but that was about when they let her go. There was a campfire. And a tent. No, two tents.

"Look how much you've scared her! I can't believe you two - she's only a child!"

Roxane raised her head. For a moment she thought the voice belonged to the cook... but it turned out to be another woman, around the cook's age but that's where any similarity ended. Roxane felt the tears well up and she ducked her head so they wouldn't see.

"Don't cry, sweet," the woman said kindly. She really did sound like the cook, though her voice was much prettier. "The bad men are sorry for scaring you, see? Look, I've made them kneel down for you. They're begging for your forgiveness."

Roxane looked up and indeed, the two men who had abducted her were on their knees, puckering their faces into exaggerated pouts.

"There's that smile," the woman said. "It blooms on her face like a flower, doesn't it? I've never seen such a gorgeous girl. Such long lashes!"

"Oh now, you're making her blush." Another woman had crawled out of a tent and joined them. This one was younger, closer to the maid's age. "Enough with the talking. Give her some broth to warm her up, she's shivering, can't you see?"

"Here, honey," the first woman said, handing Roxane a bowl of what looked like soup. "It's not much, and not as nice as whatever you're used to eating, I'm sure..."

Under the pretense of drinking the broth, which actually tasted wonderful and did warm her right up, Roxane examined the people sitting around the campfire. There were four of them - the two women and the two men who had brought her here. They didn't seem like dangeorus people, the way they talked to each other in joking, playful voices. Though... they were certainly strange. The men's hair was shaggy and long, as if they didn't bother to cut it; the women left their hair loose on their backs, though women their age usually tied it back, even the slaves; they were all barefoot and dressed in weirdly colorful clothing... Roxane had seen clothing like that before. Where was it again?

"Oh, you drank it all!" said the first woman with a pleased smile. "Do you want some more?"

Roxane shook her head. "That's alright, ma'am, but thank you."

Right away she got the feeling she said something wrong. The people around the fire fell silent and stared at her like she'd just sprouted another head.

Then, in unison, they all burst into cackles of laughter.

"No - sweet," said the first woman, laughing so hard she had tears coming out of her eyes. "We're not laughing at you... We're just surprised." She patted Roxane's head affectionately. "What a nice-mannered child you are! But you don't have to be so formal! We're only strolling players."

"Strolling players?" repeated Roxane. The words definitely tasted familiar in her mouth.

"That's what they call us," said one of the men, who had managed to control his laughter to a chortle. "We travel around from city to city, village to village, putting on a show for anyone who wants to watch us. Some of us do tricks, some of us put on plays, some of us - "

"-sing and dance," said Roxane faintly.

"Some of us do that too," grinned the man. Roxane noticed that the other three were hiding a grin behind their hands as well.

"That's what you guys do, isn't it?" said Roxane, though she already knew the answer.

The second woman elbowed the man next to her. "Crookback here plays the fiddle. Looking at that crooked back you might not know, but his music can get any crying baby to sleep, just like _that!_" She snapped her fingers.

The man named Crookback laughed. He jabbed a thumb at the two women. "White Rose and Mimi dance. And the Raven here plays the drum. We take turns singing."

"Not me, I only pretend," said the Raven. "You can guess from my name - I sound like this when I open my mouth." He imitated the caw of a raven, which sent the other three into another round of laughter.

"Tomorrow we're heading to Ombra," said White Rose, helping herself to some broth, too. "We're meeting up with our other friends there. It's going to be crazy. The Laughing Prince is celebrating the birth of his baby boy, Cosimo. Have you heard the rumors? This baby is said to have the face of an angel!"

"Can I go with you?" blurted Roxane.

The four of them looked at each other. Roxane immediately reddened. What was she thinking? These strangers were kind enough to save her from a life as a slave. But now she wanted them to let her tag along, to feed her, to care for her, when she had no money to give them, and no relation to any of them at all?

"Well," said the Raven slowly. "That depends..." Roxane looked down at the ground, trying not to let her disappointment show through. "Do you have other skills than, say, biting my hand like a toothy little badger?"

Roxane raised her head to see the Raven winking at her mischeviously.

"Oh, shush," Mimi told him, making a face. She smiled at Roxane. "It depends on how fast you learn."

"Learn what?"

In reply, the two women stood up, looped their arms together, and started to sing. As their voices weaved in and out, floating into the night air, they began to spin, fanning their colorful skirts. The Raven got out his little drum, Crookback his fiddle, and it felt as if the earth beneath Roxane's feet was breathing into life. White Rose reached out a hand. "What do you say?" she shouted over the music.

Roxane grabbed her hand. For the first time in a long time, Roxane was laughing. She laughed and laughed until her cheeks hurt.


	19. The End, or Not

The End, or Not

.

.

If you see Roxane five years later, you'll never guess that once upon a time, she didn't wear a skirt that made her look like a flower in the forest when she twirled; didn't keep her hair spilling over her shoulders, unbound into braids; didn't sing and dance as naturally as if she was born to do so. You'll never guess that once she didn't smile with the carefreeness of a person who wasn't owned by anyone else - a person who was as free as a bird, free to fly to any place she wanted, whether it was the Wayless Woods, the mountains, or the sea a little girl might only dream about...

And when others look on in astonishment as she coolly stands before stuttering lads who pledge their undying love, rich merchants who travel days and months to offer her their mansions of grandeur, men of power and prestige who try to force her with threats of brutality - and turns them all down with her chin held high and gaze unflinching... Perhaps you will know why.

And when this girl who refused to love, just as she once refused to grow up, falls for a penniless vagrant of a boy who can make fire blossom from his fingertips - fire, the opposite of cold, and the only thing the White Women fear... Perhaps you will know why.

As some would like to say, the rest is history. Except, it's not. There's still one more story to tell, and this takes place when Roxane's hair has turned gray, when she's had her share of breaks and falls...


	20. Last Act

Last Act

.

.

The house was not as big as she remembered. Or as dark, though you couldn't call it bright either. It stood there surrounded by grass that almost reached Roxane's waist. Thornberries, cockleburs, chickweeds and thistles... Like the rusted gates and weathered walls, they reminded Roxane of how much time has passed.

"Who are you?"

A girl had appeared at the doorway, looking at her suspiciously. She gripped the broomstick in her hands as if she was ready to hit Roxane with it.

"I'm... looking for the mistress of this house," Roxane. Her tongue moved clumsily around the words.

The girl's scowl cleared. "Oh, are you a friend of my grandmother's?" she asked, smiling. And now Roxane knew why the girl looked familiar, and not because she was a ghost from the past. "Yeah, she's here. You want to see her now?"

The answer came easily this time. "Yes, I do."

The girl shrugged. "Follow me. Take off your shoes first, though."

Roxane hid her smile as the girl led her up the stairs with the look of someone who didn't receive guests very often. "Why do you wear your hair loose like that? My mother pins it up. I don't want to pin mine up, but if she catches me she'll scold me for not behaving myself. My mother scolds me for a lot of things. That's why I like it better at Granny's. My mother doesn't come here, she doesn't seem to like my grandmother very much. Oh - don't tell her I said that!"

The hallway was narrower and the ceiling lower than Roxane remembered, too. She looked at the paintings hanging on the walls. These were the only things that hadn't changed.

"Hey... you look kind of like him!" said the girl, tiptoeing to look over Roxane's shoulder. "Especially around the eyes... Though of course you're a lot prettier. Are you one of my cousins?"

Roxane looked back at the painting. "You can say that," she said softly.

The girl took Roxane's hand. "Why didn't you just say so? Granny would love to see you! Come on, Auntie, she's in her room!"

She smiled at Roxane as she pushed the door open. When Roxane hesitated at the doorway, the girl gestured impatiently. "You'll have to speak loud," she whispered to Roxane. "Granny's hearing is really bad."

Roxane approached the bed. Her head felt numb, and her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. It took only this moment for Roxane to feel like a little girl again.

"Granny!" yelled the girl, crouching down beside the lump under the bed covers. "Time to wake up!" The girl pulled back the covers, adjusting the pillow. "I brought a visitor, Granny. Someone is here to see you!"

The girl finished and stepped aside, and Roxane's breath caught.

An old woman laid on the bed. Her hair hung down near her face in stringy, matted white-gray curls. Her skin was pale, blotchy, and so transparent you could see the veins. She was dressed in a thin fraying gown, and her neck was bare of jewels. Then there was the face. Her lips, as colorless as water. Dried drool on her chin. And... the eyes. They turned to land on Roxane slowly, so slowly. They blinked sluggishly as they stared up at her.

"Who...?" The voice was hoarse. As soon as she spoke, she gave several dry, heaving coughs.

"Have some water, Granny," said the girl. She looked at Roxane. "Say something! Something so she can remember you!"

Roxane opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She swallowed. "I - I'm Roxane... ma'am. I've... I've come back."

The old woman's eyes found Roxane again, with difficulty.

"Keep talking," prompted the girl.

"I just want to say... I came back so that I can..." _I can't do this_, thought Roxane, but she gripped her dress so hard she could feel her nails digging into her palm and forced herself to meet the old woman's hazy, unfocused eyes.

"They told me," Roxane said quietly, "they told me everything. How you paid them off, how you paid the driver of the wagon as well, how you told them exactly where in the woods to find me, how you said to look for the little girl wearing an ugly hat. And they told me, too, that you said to keep all this a secret from me, must never let me know who planned it all. But no matter how cunning, how clever you are, how far you thought of everything, you didn't foresee this, did you? That when people witness a good heart, they can't keep quiet? They just can't... not for long."

The girl was gaping at Roxane, but Roxane ignored her. She didn't bother to brush away her tears. Carefully she sat down at the bed, and took the old woman's gnarled, cold hand in hers.

"You once said to me that you don't expect a stupid child like me to understand... But I'm not a child anymore, I'm all grown, and I do understand now. I understand that you didn't kill my mother, but you saved her life. I understand that all the hate and spite you've shown me those early years were nothing but your bitterness and your pain. I understand that you were always there, helping me when my spirit broke, defending me from even your daughter and your son, keeping me in this house not to imprison me but to protect me, even though it hurt you to see my face every time..."

Roxane touched the woman's cheek. The old woman no longer smelled like perfume. She just smelled like herself, and it wasn't such a bad smell.

"How proud you were, prouder than I am or my daughter... the proudest of us all," said Roxane. She smiled through her tears. "Do you remember what you told me that night I left? That there are two kinds of women in this world? I know which kind I am now, and I owe it to you. I owe everything I have today to you." She took a deep breath. "I know which kind you are, too. You might have always hidden your face, hidden your true self behind harsh words and cold sneers. But you should have known, that other people have eyes. They only had to look."

The girl gave Roxane a handkerchief. Roxane took it. "How old are you, child?" she asked.

"Twelve," the girl said.

Roxane laughed lightly. "That's a good age," she said. "A good one."

The girl was still looking at her. She didn't understand what was going on, Roxane could see that in her eyes, but she seemed to understand enough. Enough not to say anything as Roxane stood up and gently tucked the old woman in.

Roxane looked around the room. With the drapes pulled back and sunlight streaming in, she could finally see it clearly. The books on the bookshelf, the painting of the woman on her wedding day, the embroidery still left on the dresser, covered in dust.

"Thank you," said Roxane, saying the words that were overdue, long overdue. She bowed to the woman, and held it for a while. Then she straightened up, nodded to the girl, and started to walk to the door.

"Roxane," spoke a voice. So low Roxane almost didn't hear. "You're... Roxane."

Roxane looked back. The old woman was still lying there, her eyes closed, breathing peacefully in deep slumber. You would have thought it was only a whisper of the wind that had spoken those words. But Roxane knew better. She smiled to herself as she closed the door.

END


End file.
